


Strung Out Like Laundry on Every Line

by Meova



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, post-2020 season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:15:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27867482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meova/pseuds/Meova
Summary: Even though they weren't teammates anymore, Charles had still hoped he and Seb would be more than strangers. He just wants to talk. Seb wants to do anything but talk.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Sebastian Vettel
Comments: 11
Kudos: 61





	Strung Out Like Laundry on Every Line

**Author's Note:**

> I'm having too many feelings about Charles and Seb as teammates (and how they won't be anymore in way too soon) so I wrote a little something-something about it. There's no actual sex in this because it's been way too long since I wrote any of that but it gets pretty close, just so y'all know.
> 
> None of this is real obviously, if you found this by Googling yourself please exit this site now, the usual disclaimers. Title's from All Time Low's Monsters.
> 
> Enjoy the angst I guess

It’s so weird to see Carlos on the other side of the garage. Charles is half expecting Lando to pop up somewhere, trying to convince Carlos to sneak away if he’s not needed, but of course Lando wouldn’t dare barge into the Ferrari garage for that. Especially not during testing. There’s still five people in front of the garages, hiding what’s happening inside from the photographers and other teams. It’s not working very well, he thinks.

He wonders how Seb’s doing in the Aston Martin garage.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by one of the engineers telling him to get back in the car. There’s flow vis paint on the front wing now, people still fiddling with bits here and there. Charles tugs his helmet back over his head and gets in the car.

xxx

It’s late, he’s tired and his whole body hurts.

He can’t remember having to do this many laps last year. It might just be the winter break, it’s always hard to get back in the groove after it. If he’s honest with himself, he’s more than just a little moody. He’s completely comfortable lying to himself.

At least there’s a bath and proper room service at this hotel (no expenses spared for il predestinato, Charles thinks wryly to himself, like sarcasm is going to lift the weight off his shoulders) and he figures that’s his night sorted, then.

xxx

Everything still hurts the next day. He’s just happy today is Carlos’ full day of testing. With a bit of luck, he’ll feel better tomorrow.

Charles takes a few painkillers with his breakfast. Little bits of last night’s dream are floating through his head, a familiar accent spiking through. He grabs his things on autopilot when the alarm on his phone rings, pulls the Ferrari beanie down over his eyes and makes his way out.

He’s actually at the paddock before he realizes he’s not going to see Seb today, either.

It shouldn’t sour his mood further (but it does) and he just sighs, pulls himself together just that little bit more and takes out his notebook before walking into the garage. Sure enough, the mechanics start babbling in his general direction before he’s even taken off his coat, and he lets himself get immersed in the task at hand again.

He pointedly does not look at the other side of the garage.

xxx

He steals a few moments away from the buzz of everything when he sees a particular hideous shade of green and pink fly past in the pitlane.

It says 18 where it should be 5 and Charles is definitely not disappointed. He still watches. The car looks good on track, but then he hadn’t expected anything else.

He’s called back before he knows it, dawdles on the way back, pretending to be very interested in his phone. He sends a quick message.

_Hope you’re not as sore as I am_

There’s no time to think if the first message he’s sent Seb all year is an appropriate one. It probably isn’t. Charles sends it anyway.

xxx

It’s late at night again when Charles can check his phone.

There’s a bunch of notifications from social media that he swipes away without looking at them. There’s more messages hidden behind them and he thumbs through them until he finds the one he’s looking for.

_I’m sore from carrying this team on my back already_

It startles a laugh out of him.

_I can’t help you with that this year_ , Charles sends back. His thumb hovers over the screen. There’s so many more things he wants to send. He can’t figure out what would be the best to start with. I miss you, perhaps. More well-wishes so he can pretend like it’s just politeness.

_You should get some sleep_ is all he gets back from Seb.

It’s true, but it’s not what he wants to hear.

xxx

Last day of testing and Charles can feel himself fraying at the edges.

He hadn’t thought it was possible, but somehow there were still more muscles in his body that could feel sore. He grits his teeth and rests his head against the side in the fast corners. Pain, he can deal with. Gets a sick sort of satisfaction when he pushes his body beyond the borders of too much.

He wanders off during the lunch break and spots a familiar figure. There’s a small place in his chest that stops hurting. He walks over to see if it will spread.

(It doesn’t.)

‘Hey,’ he says, leaning against the wall next to the figure.

‘Hey,’ Seb replies.

‘How are things going?’ Charles can keep it casual. He thinks. Is this casual?

‘Same old, same old.’ Seb shrugs. ‘I don’t think one and a half days is enough to get up to speed but ah, what can we do about it.’

There’s a silence there were it shouldn’t be. Charles rushes to fill it.

‘It’s weird to not see you in the garage. I...’

Seb shushes him just as quickly.

‘It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.’

‘But I want to.’ Charles is not pouting, nor is that little place in his chest starting to hurt again. He remembers when he said goodbye to Seb last year. It hadn’t been like this.

‘I have to go again.’ Seb squeezes his shoulder, turns around and walks back to his new garage. Charles presses his fingers where he can still feel Seb’s touch radiating out, the brief pressure enough to wake up the pain in his shoulders. Maybe if he pushes hard enough, it’ll leave a mark like Seb left in his brain.

xxx

He’s sore, he’s tired and he’s angry.

He picks up his phone and fires off another message.

_So nothing changed in the last two years?_

It’s possibly the worst idea he’s had so far to press send, but he does it anyway. His worst idea was probably thinking Seb cared.

_I just want to talk, Seb._

He feels like a petulant child, the tantrum fighting its way out of his skin and his eyes and his mouth and if he doesn’t do something soon, he’s going to tear apart like wet paper.

His phone beeps.

_Room 216, if you really want to._

He’s out the door before he knows it.

xxx

Seb wastes no words, just pushes him against the door as soon as he’s in the room. Charles bares his throat and Seb uses his full weight then to pin him down, leaving no escape route. It’s not like Charles needs one.

‘There is something I have to talk to you about,’ Charles gasps as Seb mouths his way down Charles’ throat, biting down ever so slightly on his collar bone.

‘No, you don’t,’ is all he gets in reply before Seb pushes a knee in between his legs and kisses him, slipping his tongue in Charles’ mouth as soon as Charles lets him in, kissing back desperately. He isn’t even able to speak anyway at this point, even if he’d still remembered what words were.

‘Please,’ is all he manages to force out when Seb pulls away to breathe for a bit. He doesn’t know what he’s begging for. He just wants all Seb can give him. Seb doesn’t respond, manhandling him over to the bed instead before covering Charles’ body with his own again.

xxx

There’s come cooling in his boxers, the sheen of sweat on his body still glistening. His lips hurt too, he notices. That’s new. Yet another bit of his body that won’t let him forget.

Seb fishes a towel from somewhere underneath the bed, cleans himself up with it and hands it over. Charles takes off his underwear, wipes himself off as best as he can and pulls the blanket up enough to cover himself, oddly self-conscious all of a sudden. He worries at his bottom lip with his teeth, wincing when it catches on a sore spot.

‘What are we going to do now?’

Charles doesn’t want to break the fragile understanding between them, but he needs to know. He’s been scared since the announcement, hiding it in the cracks of his mind so well he even manages to forget about it himself sometimes.

‘This, I guess.’ Seb’s not giving him an inch. Charles really wants to know how to let go of things that easily. Although it must be easier to let go of a wreck like himself than someone like Seb, he supposes.

‘Just some quick fucks, then?’ Charles is desperate for a reaction. He’s not getting it. The anger bubbles back up inside of him. At least that’s a familiar feeling.

‘I don’t know.’ Seb rolls over, his back to Charles. ‘It’s not so easy, you know.’

Charles wants to dig his nails in the perfect skin of Seb’s back, scratch red lines to match the ones in his brain, leading back to the infuriating German that won’t leave his thoughts alone.

He reaches out and does exactly that.

Seb gasps, surprised, and is back on top of him in seconds. His own nails are digging in Charles’ wrists and Charles can breathe again.

Some things really are easy, after all.

xxx

The marks disappear before the first race of the season. Of course they do.

He thinks about Seb refreshing them, scratching his skin open, biting another bruise into his neck.

He wants. Doesn’t dare hope.

Until they’re in Australia and his phone buzzes with another room number.

He ends up on his knees, an arms-length away from the bed. Seb’s fingers are down his throat as soon as he attempts to start a (very innocent and simple, he swears) conversation, swiftly replaced by his cock. Charles is starting to see a pattern here.

‘We really have to talk about this,’ Charles says afterwards, pulling on the boxers that miraculously stayed clean this time around.

‘No. Let’s just keep it simple.’

Nothing about this is simple. Nothing about Charles is simple, really.

Still, he keeps his mouth shut and nods.

‘I’ll just go then,’ he says, pulling his shirt back over his head.

He thinks he sees Seb reach out to him before he catches himself, taking a step away from Charles.

‘Okay,’ is all he gets in response. Charles wants to scream. He wants to open Seb’s brain and see what’s inside. He wants to stay the night, curl up together under the blankets, learn every little bit of Seb’s body.

It scares him how much he wants.

He lets the fear (of wanting, of losing what he never thought he’d have, of _loving_ ) lead him out of the door and back to his own room.

xxx

The morning of the Bahrain race, there’s another message.

_I’m in room 673. If you want, tonight._

Of course he wants.

It doesn’t matter what he wants though, does it?

He memorizes the room number and tries to focus on the race.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr if you want to see me shout into the void](https://meova101.tumblr.com/)


End file.
